


fresh burst of red strawberries

by hamiltrashed



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types, The Walking Dead RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Okay this has enough tags, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Romantic Friendship, Smut, THERE'S SO MUCH SEX AND ROMANTIC FEELS HERE GUYS, The Rickyl gang has been freaking out about Leedus more and more since the Make A Wish video, This has a sort of plot but not really let's be real, This was born from that, so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew visits Norman's trailer, intending to take a nap. What he gets instead are strawberries, Noman's undying love for him, and something that is definitely <i>not</i> a nap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fresh burst of red strawberries

**Author's Note:**

> Bless Michelle_A_Emerlind, as always, for betaing my work and being awesome. And special thanks to MermaidSheenaz who virtually whispered in my ear a lot about things she wanted to see in this fic. I hope I got it right! (:
> 
> This is my first Leedus fic, so I'm hopeful that it goes over okay!

The moment Norman opens his trailer door to the barrage of persistent knocking, Andrew barrels inside and shuts it behind him, looking harried and shifty. 

“Whoa, man, what’s wrong?” The part of Norman that constantly worries about Andy’s safety and happiness is suddenly and instantly on edge. But when Andy looks over at him after securing the door, he’s smiling. 

“Nothing,” he says, stepping closer and clapping Norman on the shoulder. “Just wanted a place no one would find me so I can take a nap.”

Norman’s aware the look on his face is probably best defined by the word ‘bewildered,’ but that quickly turns to him bursting out in laughter. “Sorry,” he says, between chuckles. “I just want to get this straight. You want a place where no one will find you so you picked _my_ trailer? You do know you’re in here every five minutes, right? This is the first place anybody would look. They would look _here_ before even looking in your trailer!”

Andy frowns. “...In retrospect, I didn’t think this through. But I’m here already, so I’m not leaving.” 

He flashes Norman that dazzling grin again and Norman shakes his head, dropping onto the couch. Andy flops down next to him, turns and stretches out, his head landing in Norman’s lap with a dramatic sigh. His eyes close and Norman pats his cheek, a small part of him flinching away from the idea of having Andy lying on him like this. It’s not like it’s the first time, but lately, Norman has been unable to separate his ever growing feelings from their friendship. 

But, he guesses, when you spend five years pining after someone who can’t be yours, it’s bound to eventually start becoming too much. He doesn’t _want_ it to. He wants it to stay controlled, locked away enough that he doesn’t become unable to stand Andy’s presence just because he wants more than he can have. More immediately than that, he really doesn’t want to start getting a goddamn boner with Andy’s head resting _right there_.

Before he can start getting too stressed about it, Norman reaches down for the carton of strawberries he’d left sitting on the floor by the couch after he’d pilfered it from craft services earlier. He pops one into his mouth, the juice flooding over his tongue when he bites into it, and is immediately pretty satisfied with today’s choice of what-to-steal-from-craft-while-no-one’s-looking. He grabs a second one and taps it against Andy’s lips.

“I’m sleeping,” Andy mumbles, clearly not sleeping.

“Eat it.”

“We’ve talked about not putting things in my mouth while I’m asleep,” Andy says, completely seriously, and Norman kinda wants to laugh, kinda wants to die a little at that phrasing.

“Irrelevant, you’re awake. Eat itttt,” Norman insists.

Andy’s eyes open in a squint and he looks up at Norman, then glances at the fruit hanging just above his mouth. 

“I didn’t come for strawberries. I came for a nap.” Andy punctuates this with a yawn as if to emphasise the lack of sleep he’s been annoyed about all day. But as soon as his mouth is open, Norman takes the opportunity to drop the strawberry inside, smirking at the glare he receives in return. He can feel the sudden heat in his cheeks as he watches the line of Andy’s jaw when he chews, his throat when he swallows. 

“Good, right?” Norman’s aware that he’s mumbling now, thinking again that maybe keeping Andrew’s head resting in his lap is not the brightest idea he’s had this week. When Andy moves his head so his cheek is pressed against Norman’s stomach, he _knows_ it’s not.

“Not bad,” Andy admits, licking his lips. His eyes close again and he sighs, and Norman can’t resist; he reaches up and starts playing with Andy’s hair. At first, his fingers just twist around soft, freshly washed, greying curls, but then he can’t help himself and his hand slides slowly through from Andy’s forehead all the way back, fingers lingering at the side of his neck. Andy hums out a half-moan that makes Norman shiver, murmurs something that sounds a lot like _don’t stop_ , and Norman exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. God, the amount of times he’s imagined those words, in a hundred different situations, none of them quite so innocent or intimate as this. 

Norman bites his tongue to stop himself from saying anything stupid, and threads his fingers back through Andy’s hair. It’s still damp from his shower, and Norman can count the handful of wet spots on his white shirt where he didn’t quite get dry there, either. His skin peeks through like a taunt, and Norman’s not one for religion, but surely even Jesus wasn’t as tempted as this. Norman pulls his hand away before he decides to put it elsewhere. 

Andy opens one eye and frowns. “You did hear me tell you not to stop that, yes?”

Norman feigns distraction. “Mm?”

Andrew rolls his eyes and reaches up a hand to disentangle Norman’s arms from where he’s folded them across his chest. He takes one of Norman’s hands, and Norman expects him to place it back at his hair, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds onto it, fingers dancing across his palm, tracing the lines there. 

Norman swallows hard. “Tell me my future,” he says, trying to smile.

“Hmm,” Andy hums softly, fingertips tickling Norman’s palm. “Destined to live alone forever when Mingus goes off to university.” Then he pauses to glance up at Norman, grin on his face. “Well. With 57 cats.” 

Norman thumps Andy gently on the chest with his free hand. “You were supposed to tell me something I didn’t already know. And it was going to be 77, not 57.”

He doesn’t take his hand away from Andy’s yet, merely reaches down for another strawberry. It’s halfway to his mouth when Andy puts a hand out, snatches it, and brings it up to his own lips. He takes a bite, then offers the rest to Norman, smiling with his mouth half full of fruit. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I insulted your cat lady status _and_ stole your food. Where are my manners?”

Norman accepts the other half of the strawberry, even though it feels like way too much to eat it after Andy’s already taken a piece, even though they do this literally _all_ the time and nothing has changed except maybe that Norman is becoming a little too addicted to his need to be around his friend. And it _is_ a need, Norman knows it is, because whenever they’re together, whenever he’s got his hands all over Andy (which is also all the time and Norman doesn’t know why Andy puts up with it), that nagging thing in him that just wants and wants and wants is sated, if only a little bit.

Norman chews slowly, thoughtfully, one hand still in Andy’s grip, their fingers laced together now though Norman looks away because he can’t stand to see it and not do anything. Andy nudges Norman’s stomach with his head. “You’re not yourself today.”

Norman glances down at him, swallowing the strawberry and biting his lip. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t like it much more when they finish filming for the day, when Andy drops Rick’s accent and slips back into his own, much softer, all quiet English lilt and God-save-the-queen.

“Shh,” Norman finally replies. “If this is you napping, then you talk real loud in your sleep.”

Andy ignores this, headbutting Norman again. “C’mon, Norm. Talk to me.” He sits up and turns around on the couch to face Norman, legs folded up, leaning in. “You can always talk to me.”

Norman turns to the side and meets those stunning blue eyes, staring at him intently and waiting for an answer he isn’t sure he can give. Some part of him feels that Andy knows, that he _must_ know because fuck, it’s not like Norman’s been subtle. Half his day is spent glued to Andy’s side, hands on him, lips (and sometimes tongue) against his cheek more often than not. Nobody bats an eye anymore, nobody looks with raised eyebrows because it’s not _weird_ anymore. They just expect that wherever you find Andy, you’ll also find Norman.

“Got nothing to talk about,” Norman answers.

Andy gives him a look that plainly says he doesn’t buy Norman’s lie. “Are you ill? You talk my ear off any other day about literally everything under the sun, but today you’ve _got nothing to talk about_.” He places air quotes around these last words to emphasise how ridiculous they sound, though Norman is already aware. 

“Fine,” Norman says. “I have things to talk about. I just don’t know how to talk about them.”

Andrew grins. “I know a few words in French if you wanna try it in another language.”

Norman smacks his knee. “Smartass.”

Andy’s smile fades. “I’m serious, you know. You can always talk to me. About anything. If it’s upsetting you then it upsets me, too.”

“I’m not upset,” Norman clarifies quickly. “I’m just…” He waves a hand and tries to think of a word. “I don’t know. Confused maybe. Or no, not confused. Just attached to an idea of something that isn’t ever going to work.”

Andy watches him carefully, and Norman begins to feel like he’s being scrutinised for signs of the things he hasn’t said. “What’s this idea you’re attached to? You never know what’ll happen, Norm. The universe works in mysterious ways and all that.” 

“Mysterious my ass,” Norman huffs, sighing. “I just - I really want -” There’s a little of Daryl’s grit in his words, and he doesn’t really mean for it to be there. He clears his throat and starts again. “I really want -” he looks away from Andy’s intense stare. “Strawberries,” he finishes lamely turning away and reaching down for the carton on the floor.

“Oh,” Andy says, rather deadpan. “Well, I’m sure they want you as well.”

“Hope so,” Norman mutters under his breath, and his fingers are an inch away from the carton when Andy reaches out and pulls him back so he’s facing him again. 

“Listen, just to be clear… would it be sensible to assume that I’m the strawberries in this conversation?”

Norman gapes at him like a fish out of water, and there’s a sudden quiet, hushed sound. He can’t tell if it’s real or just the world crashing down around him in his head. Half of him is screaming _thank god, he knows_! while the other half is screaming _oh fuck, he knows_! But now is not the time to back down. There’s no way Norman can get up and walk away and pretend Andy didn’t just say what he said, that his visceral reaction to it isn’t a dead giveaway.

So he gathers every ounce of courage he has, and slowly nods, clears his throat and mutters, “Yes. That would be sensible.”

“Wonderful,” Andy says, as if they’re discussing tomorrow’s weather, and then he’s throwing himself forward and kissing Norman.

Once Norman gets over the initial shock of finding Andrew’s mouth on his, once he’s _kissing him back_ , he comes to see that this is not at all what he imagined it would be like. He’s kissed Andy so many times (though admittedly, not on the mouth) that he thought it might be the same thing he’s used to. His lips on Andy and that flood of warmth, that spark of electricity. But this is more. So much more. Andy’s hands on him have never felt this good, this _right_. One is at the back of his neck, fingers tangled into Norman’s hair, the other at his waist, half up under the hem of his shirt. 

It’s soft at first, just lips on lips and Norman gasping because he can’t fucking help it. And then from one second to the next, it’s like stepping into a furnace and being burned in the best way possible. Andrew becomes all barely controlled fire and insistent passion like he’s feeding off Norman’s desire and giving it back tenfold. His mouth tastes like strawberries and coffee and the cigarette they’d shared barely an hour ago and it’s so good that Norman is already half hard in his jeans, aching for Andy to do more, touch _more_.

Then Andy’s moving so Norman is lying back on the arm of the couch with Andy on top of him, hand moving further up under his shirt and roaming across his chest in a way that makes Norman shiver. Norman can feel the gentle scrape of stubble against his chin but he doesn’t mind, never would, not when he’s got Andy’s tongue in his mouth, the sweet pressure of his weight on top of him. Not when Andy is occasionally pulling back to nip at his lips with his teeth, both their breathing gone heavy and hard and shuddering. This is no mere spark, not anymore; it's lightning and thunder and the whole goddamn storm.

Andy pauses, breathless, and pulls away to look Norman in the eyes. “Were you just never going to say anything?”

“I might have, eventually. I was just… unsure. That this could happen.”

Andrew pulls aside the neck of Norman’s shirt, bites and licks and sucks at his collarbone and Norman hopes to God it bruises, desperately wants to be marked by him. 

“How sure are you now?” Andy murmurs against his skin, and Norman makes a whining sound he’d be ashamed of if he hadn’t been waiting for this moment for the last five years.

“Very.”

“Good,” Andy says, licking up the side of Norman’s throat, pressing his lips against his ear. “Because I’d rather you be sure if we’re going to do this.”

Norman catches the scent of body wash and cologne and something recognisably Andy, something that’s just _him_ that Norman smells on him all the time. He can barely catch his breath and he feels a little lightheaded, which is only to be expected when this has come flying at him out of left field.

“I’m so sure,” Norman babbles, groaning when Andy’s teeth catch on his earlobe. “I’m the surest anyone’s ever been about _anything_ , that’s how fucking sure I am.”

Those words seem to be all the permission Andy needs because he’s going immediately for Norman’s jeans, unbuttoning them and moving down so his head is back in Norman’s lap. The second he’s got his zipper open, he’s mouthing at the front of Norman’s boxers, over his cock, all friction and wet heat through the layer of thin cotton. Norman buries his hands in Andy’s hair, pushes his hips up against Andy’s mouth in desperation, mind going blank but for this and only this and the word _finally_ threatening to burst from his lips at any moment.

“Please,” Norman says, and it sounds needy even to his own ears, but when he’s been deprived of a mouth that’s this good for this long, Andy’s lucky he’s not flat out begging. Andy laughs and runs his fingers along the length of Norman’s cock before he gives in and tugs his jeans and boxers down in one swift movement. 

“Well. I’ve been very, very stupid, haven’t I?” Andy says with a small smile, brushing his fingertips lightly over the head of Norman’s cock. “Waiting this long for _this_.”

“Complete idiot,” Norman agrees absently, letting Andy drag his jeans the rest of the way down and off, letting him spread his thighs apart with firm hands, head going back down. Norman is still stuck in a state of shock, still not completely convinced he’s not dreaming or fantasising or maybe dead and gone to heaven because this is definitely what he imagines heaven to be like.

Andrew’s tongue suddenly trails up the inside of Norman’s thigh, stops before his mouth comes even close to his cock, his breath ghosting along the wet spot on his skin. Norman groans, fairly sure that every inch of his body is alive and singing out for this. He buries his hands back in Andy’s curls, spreads his legs wider, and tries to wrap his mind around the fact that Andy’s face is between them, grey stubble grazing along the sensitive skin there. It’s sure to leave a mark, red and slightly stinging, something to make Norman remember it over and over.

Without warning, he takes Norman into his mouth, swallows half of him down in a way that makes it plainly obvious this is not his first time doing this. Norman doesn’t have any room to be jealous, not when he’s done it before too, not when he finds it kinda hot that Andy has, especially not when it’s him that’s here with Andy right now. With Andy’s pretty, plump lips, red from their kisses, wrapped around his dick.

He’s good, _beyond_ good, knows just how to use that tongue to make Norman moan, and Norman couldn’t care less that he’s being loud, that someone might hear. He can hardly stop himself anyway, not with Andy looking up at him with those eyes, with his dick in his mouth like it’s not the fucking sexiest thing he could possibly do. He flicks his tongue just under the head, and Norman only barely keeps himself from pulling on his hair. He’s convinced himself now that he’s not dreaming, because he’s dreamt this a hundred times but never _felt_ it. And this… _this_ he can feel, every tiny second of it.

Norman gathers all the self-control he has to pull Andy away, sitting up and switching their positions, so that Andy is the one on his back, Norman in between his legs. He leans in for another kiss, completely enthralled with the idea that that’s something he can do now. That he can kiss Andrew’s mouth and it’s okay to do. And maybe it won’t happen outside the privacy of this trailer, but Norman’s already planning hours long makeout sessions in here. The way this man kisses like it’s the first kiss every time their lips meet is easily the most addictive thing in the world.

“Taking charge, are you?” Andy whispers against his mouth, voice breathy and heavy.

“Don’t lie,” Norman says, pressing his forehead against Andy’s. “You’ve been waiting for me to.”

Andy rolls those pretty blue eyes and laughs. “Only for about a century. Not long at all.”

“No more waiting,” Norman says, enthusiastically tearing open Andy’s jeans, far too happy to find him sans boxers.

Andy nods. “We’ll just have to make up for all the lost time we’ve spent fooling ourselves into thinking we didn’t want each other.”

Norman feigns surprise. “I knew you wanted me,” he says, trying to keep a straight face. “Have you seen me?"

“You’re such a bullshitter,” Andy laughs that ridiculous little giggle of his, dragging him in to kiss him, his hand curling back around Norman’s cock. Norman presses his hips forward, groaning when he slides through Andy’s fist with ease, still wet from his mouth. He pushes a hand inside Andy’s jeans to return the favour, finding him half hard and leaking precome. Andy groans into his mouth when Norman grips tight, slides his hand upward, foreskin slipping up over the head with ease. Desperate for more, Norman lets go and presses his body down against Andy’s. The younger man takes the hint, wrapping one hand around both of them together. Norman continues to kiss him, thrusting against him, against Andy’s palm.

“Christ, Norm, feels good like that,” Andy gasps between kisses, and Norman tries not to lose himself between the slow grind of Andy against him, his hand around the both of them, and that godforsaken gorgeous accent.

Norman could easily come just like this, rocking his hips against Andy’s like a teenager, but he’s waited much too long for it to be only this. As good as it feels, there’s no way they’re going to walk away from this without having fucked. So he manages to pull himself away, breathless from their kisses but still wanting more.

Andy takes a moment to get his shirt off, and Norman immediately runs his hands over his chest, dragging his fingers through the hair there, the hair that’s blessedly growing back after some damned fool thought it was a good idea for Rick Grimes to not have chest hair. “Fucking love this,” he murmurs, almost to himself, leaning in to kiss across his chest. He licks and sucks over one nipple, moving up to nose into Andy’s armpit, licking there, too. Andy’s fingers tangle into his hair and he lets out a soft, keening whine that makes Norman shudder with want.

Norman pulls back suddenly, feeling more and more desperate by the second. “Hands and knees,” he tells Andy, and it seems like a demand but comes out more like a plea. 

“Anything for you,” Andy says, grabbing his chin for one more quick kiss and turning over, pulling himself up onto his knees, arms resting over the arm of the couch.

Norman smiles when he pulls Andy’s jeans down over his ass. His fingers trail along his lower back until he reaches one cheek, drawing little patterns there with his fingertip. “So you _are_ fuzzy everywhere,” Norman says, amused and way too thrilled about discovering this.

Andy, knees digging into the leather of the couch, turns his head to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Does that bother you?”

“Don’t ask ridiculous questions,” Norman scoffs, and brings a hand down, only half-hard across Andy’s ass. Andy goes still, head going down, and he makes a sound the likes of which Norman has never heard out of anyone: a low, chest-deep, animal growl that ends in an almost moan. Holy _shit_.

“I have another question,” Andy says, still panting, and he turns his head to look back at Norman again. There’s a look in his eyes that Norman couldn’t have ever imagined seeing there, all lust and need and desire. The corner of his mouth is turned up in a devilish grin. “Are you going to fuck me or are we waiting another five years?” 

Norman can think of no better answer than to lean in, spread Andy’s cheeks apart with his fingertips, and lick all the way up from his balls over his hole. He wants to go slow, but the second Andy’s hole, tight and clearly sensitive, fucking _twitches_ under his tongue, he can’t stop himself. He licks over his entrance again and again, runs a thumb over it too until Andy is relaxed enough that he can get his tongue just the tiniest bit inside. Norman’s so hard it almost hurts, the sounds coming from Andy enough to push him way past the point of needing it. He doesn’t know if there’s a word stronger than _need_ , but he certainly fucking feels it.

“ _Fuck_! Norman, oh my -” Andy doesn’t get out more than that, and it seems making little, barely comprehensible noises comes a lot easier than talking at this point. Norman takes that as a good sign. He spends a few more minutes there, going at it with abandon, wanting more than anything to hear Andrew gasping, to feel him pushing back against his mouth. When Norman finally pulls away, jaw starting to ache (though frankly, that’s the least of his worries), Andy finally manages to get proper words out. 

“Take it you’ve done that before,” he pants, looking around at Norman, who shrugs.

“Few times.”

Andy gives him a knowing smirk. “Yeah, well, if Flanery didn’t like it as much as I do, he’s an idiot.”

Norman doesn’t even have to ask how Andy knows that it was Sean; he figures everyone and their mother has a damn good idea about that now. “He liked it but he didn’t moan nearly as much as your loud mouth,” Norman says with a laugh.

“You can’t possibly expect me to be quiet when you’ve half got me on the edge of coming already, you little monster!”

“Oh, I don’t expect it at all. I’d _much_ rather you be loud.” With that, Norman shoves a hand behind the cushions of the couch, fishing for the bottle he keeps stashed there. Andrew laughs when he sees what he’s doing. 

“Filthy bugger, aren’t you? Keeping lube stashed in your couch.”

Norman smirks. “It’s convenient. Besides, where else am I supposed to jerk off?”

“Fair point, love. It is smart.”

“Been known to happen,” Norman says, laying another quick smack on Andy’s ass. “Stay here.”

“As if I’d go anywhere.”

Norman moves from the couch only long enough to dig through a cabinet to find a stray condom (trying not to dwell on how long it’s been since he’s needed one and instead on the fact that it’s Andy who’s about to break his dry spell). Packet in hand, he returns to the couch and sits down. 

“Come here,” he murmurs.

While Andy stands to get his jeans off, Norman takes a second to tear open the condom and get it on himself, considering that next time (and there _will_ be a next time), he’s gonna show Andy that trick he learned a long time ago, and put one on him with his mouth. Norman tugs Andy down onto his lap, moaning at the feeling of his ass against the length of his dick, hard as hell and aching for it. Norman doesn’t think he’s really known the meaning of the word _throbbing_ until right now. 

When Norman goes for the bottle of lube, Andy plucks it from his hand, flips the top open, and spreads some of the warm liquid across his fingers, reaching behind himself to open himself up. Norman watches his face change, his own mouth hanging open.

“You been fucked before?” he asks, desperate to know now.

“Not for a long time,” Andy groans in reply, other hand gripping Norman’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Do _this_ now and then though.” He moves backward on his hand, gasping. And if that’s not the greatest thought in the world, Norman doesn’t know what is.

“Feel good?” Norman mumbles, mouth going dry as he watches Andy moving in his lap, outright fucking himself open on his own fingers, preparing himself for Norman.

“Not nearly as good as I know you will,” Andrew answers between whimpering moans. It’s exactly the kind of sound Norman would expect out of him, but he makes it sound so much better than Norman had ever fantasised it might. Norman’s hand closes around Andy’s cock, fully hard now, curved slightly upward toward his belly and still leaking a ridiculous amount of precome.

He strokes slow, firm, and Andy moans his name, and that’s never sounded quite so good either. Maybe it’s the accent, or maybe it’s because it’s Andy saying it, but either way, Norman wants to record that moan. He wants to record his name rolling off Andy’s tongue like a chant or a prayer, play it back, over and over for the rest of his life.

“If you don’t go faster than that,” Andy says, “I’m going to show you all I’ve learned about crossbows.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah,” Andy says, and then he’s pulling his fingers out of himself, almost immediately sliding down on Norman’s cock, unexpectedly and without warning. Norman’s hand falters on Andy’s dick entirely and he throws his head back, the sudden feeling of being inside him like the moment when you first break the surface of the water after diving in. Andy makes a noise of pleasure and says, “Now fuck me.”

Norman doesn’t have the air left in his lungs to tell Andy to slow down, to take it easy, because he’s riding him then like it’s nothing, like they’ve been doing this all along. He’s biting his lip, making that growling noise in the back of his throat again, and Norman is barely getting the chance to catch his breath, to fuck him at all, because Andy’s just busy fucking himself.

“Jesus fucking - _Andrew_!” It takes a moment for Norman to even wrap his mind around how that shout came out of his own mouth.

Andy leans into him, every roll of his hips pushing his dick up into Norman’s fist, and then back on Norman’s cock, all the way down, _hard_. His head falls forward and he presses his face against Norman’s, breath heavy and hot against his ear. “Like it when you moan my name.”

“Gonna -” Norman gasps, swallowing hard, “gonna be moaning it a lot from now on.”

“That a promise?”

“Bet your sweet ass it is.”

Andy makes a noise that’s a half-laugh, half-grunt. “It is pretty sweet, isn’t it? Always knew you fancied getting your dick up it.”

“Cocky fucker,” Norman mutters, laughing too, grabbing Andy’s hips and thrusting up into him, trying to gain just a tiny bit of control back before he blows his load way too soon. He’s fairly sure it’ll be soon anyway, that he’s got no hope of not losing it when Andy is tight like a vise around him, and it’s both hell and paradise at the same time.

It’s second nature, whatever this is, the two of them moving together, in sync and close and wrapped up only in each other. Just like always. The only difference is that it’s better than it’s ever been, with Andrew moving on him, every second that ticks by a reminder that this was born from the chemistry that sprang up between them the second they met. And it might have taken them this long to get here, but it’s so goddamn worth it.

“Love this,” Norman says, and then, because he says it all the time, because he doesn’t think it will matter, he says, “love you.”

“Me too,” Andy gasps, and then laughs. “I mean, I love you too.”

“Yeah?” Norman says, and his hands are so tight on Andy’s hips now that they’re almost certainly going to leave him little fingertip bruises.

“Yeah. Holy shit! Yes, Norman, _right there_ , c’mon, fuck me!” Andy’s got his own hand wrapped around himself now, getting himself off and making absolutely sinful noises, and Norman tries hard to keep them both steady, keep this angle because it’s clearly dragging Andy closer to the edge and that alone is enough to get Norman there, too.

“M’close,” Norman warns him, because that telltale feeling is starting way down deep at the base of his spine and building, and it feels much better than it has in a long time, not just fireworks but an _explosion_ , threatening to drop him straight into the fire. “Really close, Andy, _fuck_ -”

“Come on, loverboy,” Andy says, in that same voice that’s always laced with affection for him, the one that should have clued Norman in a long time ago that this was always going to happen. The only thing he has to regret now is lost time. “Come for me.”

It’s easy as that; the demand is like magic words, and Norman gives one final thrust up into him before he’s coming, Andy clenched tight around his cock and coming, too, all over his chest at the same moment. And it’s hot as fuck, completely dirty, and more indicative of their connection than maybe anything’s ever been. Andrew rides out his orgasm with slow rolls of his hips that make Norman actually _whimper_ , little aftershocks coursing through him like pinpricks of electricity.

Neither of them move. They stay still and quiet for a long moment, the only sound their breathing finally evening back out until it sounds almost sleepy. It takes a long time, but with Andy still there in his lap, with his cock still inside him, it seems better to ask now than later.

“Is this… gonna be a thing?” Norman asks. “What is this?”

“Whatever we want it to be,” Andy replies with a little yawn.

“But… Gael -”

Andy snorts out a laugh so loud it almost startles Norman. “She asked me three years ago if this was going on and was quite surprised it wasn’t, so I don’t think she minds very much.” He contains his laughter after a second. “We are what we are, Norman. Sometimes things just work out. Universe. Mysterious ways.”

Norman rolls his eyes and pulls Andy in for a deep kiss, only pulling away when a loud banging on the trailer door shakes them out of their reverie. Norman meets Andy’s eyes with confusion before he shouts out, “What?” at the door.

Steven’s voice answers him, sounding annoyed. “I’m thrilled for you that you just got laid and it sounds like what you’re packing is impressive, Reedus, but if Andy could keep it down from now until the rest of forever, that would be _fantastic_!” His footsteps stomp away and Norman and Andy look at each other again before bursting into laughter. 

“Think we have a fanclub,” Andy says, and Norman just nods, grinning, pulling him back in for more kisses.

At some point, he thinks, they’ll have to wander off to shower, but for the moment he’s content to sit here, still buried deep in Andrew, kissing him and laughing and thinking, over and over, _we are what we are. Whatever we want to be_.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Franz Ferdinand's "Fresh Strawberries."


End file.
